


A Dangerous Distraction

by Seguidilla



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seguidilla/pseuds/Seguidilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irikah’s life is interrupted by a stalking, murdering assassin. Inspired by the events of Thane's comic book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Red star in the distance. I move, birds scatter. The old salarian flees. ‘How dare you?’_

Irikah shook her head. Refocused. She didn’t have time for memories.

She looked at the sample under her microscope. Only the left scope worked, the other was dark. Could it have been? A real, live assassin, peering at her through a scope not much different from this one? Surely not. Just a stupid kid playing with a laser pointer, probably. Harmless. Meaningless.

‘Do you require another stimulant?’ inquired the lab’s LOKI mech.

Yes. No. The stims helped her stay awake, but they wouldn’t stop her from returning to the same intruding thoughts, over and over.

The sound of smashing glass seized her attention. A sudden gust of cold, damp air and the accompanying adrenaline spike were more far bracing than any stimulant. Who would be breaking windows at this hour of the night? Not protestors. Thugs. They were armed.

Irikah scowled as they advanced on her: a turian and a drell, the same pair that had trashed her lab a few days earlier. They had destroyed seventeen promising samples. Seventeen sacrifices of the terminally ill, gifted to her in pain and hope, had been wasted.

Snatching up her malfunctioning microscope – another piece of their handiwork – Irikah hid it behind her back as she turned to face them. These two brutes were each twice her size, but she promised herself this much: at least one of them was going to regret coming here.

‘Excuse me,’ said the LOKI politely, stepping between Irikah and the intruders. The drell swept it aside with the metal pipe he carried, delivering a punishing blow that smashed right through the its neck. He leered obscenely at Irikah as the severed head bounced and rolled across the floor. The message was clear: _you’re next... after I'm done with you_.

The turian advanced on her, shoving his way in front of the drell. Irikah met his eye. She could smell his alien breath as he loomed closer, bringing them almost nose-to-nose. Somewhere behind him, the LOKI’s head exploded in a shower of sparks. The brilliant light made her eyes burn.

 _Stupid lizard bitch,_ the turian was calling her. Perhaps he was right. She tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon behind her back, turning it over, feeling its hard edges and judging its weight.

She hadn’t anticipated the third intruder. Suddenly the drell was down and another was in his place, armed with nothing but his bare hands. The turian was saying something to her but she didn’t hear what: the important thing was that he had turned away from her to meet the new threat. Seizing the opportunity, she swung the microscope overarm and bludgeoned him in the head.

His threats were cut off by the crunch of his ugly turian skull giving way. He dropped heavily to the floor, the microscope firmly embedded in his head. Irikah turned on the third intruder. He was drell, like her. Green, red, clad in black. Not threatening. Not immediately, at least.

‘You’re not with them, I assume,’ she said, giving him a wary eye.

The stranger blinked and met her gaze. ‘What did they want?’

Her eyes narrowed. Why would he be here if he didn’t know? ‘I’m researching a vaccine for a very rare hanar disease. Those guys – or whoever hired them – have a strong moral objection to what I’m doing,’ she explained. ‘Who are you and why are you here?’

‘My name is Thane Krios. I am – I was an assassin fulfilling my compact with the hanar.’ He reached for her and his voice dropped low. ‘The other day at the park… what you did…’

_Red star in the distance._

An assassin! The memory – the one that had occupied Irikah’s mind so thoroughly – suddenly made sense. ‘That was you!’ she snarled, knocking his hand aside and activating the emergency protocol on her omnitool. ‘You murdering bastard! I want you out of here. Now!’

He stepped back, and for a moment Irikah fully expected him to leave. She froze, astonished, as he dropped to his knees and spoke. ‘You have devoted your entire life to saving others. Now I need you to save me,’ he said, hands splayed palms-up in a gesture of helplessness.

Irikah had a talent for staring people down, and she employed it often. However, she found his gaze uniquely unnerving: it was intense, with an earnest, almost reverent quality. As if realising his hubris, he broke the eye contact and bowed his head.

The corpses of her assailants lay like offerings at her feet. He had saved her lab, and very likely her life. A wave of exhaustion hit her and she wavered, shutting off the omnitool. When she spoke, however, her voice was hard: ‘Thank you for your help, assassin. But don’t you dare follow me again.’

‘Please…’ He began to rise, but she cowed him with a glance and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Irikah’s early-morning return to the lab was fraught with anxiety. Between the costs of hiring the lab and obtaining materials for her work, her research funding was stretched to its limit. Now she would have to replace the lab’s LOKI mech for the second time in a week, which wasn’t cheap. Her plans to obtain more tissue samples from diseased hanar would be put on hold yet again.

At least there were no protestors waiting outside. It was still too early for them. However, somebody had been busy inside the lab: a containment field had been placed across the broken window, the LOKI’s remains were swept neatly into a box, and no trace remained of the two corpses. Everything else was exactly as she remembered.

Listening carefully, she cast a suspicious eye around the lab, lingering on the shadows. She saw nothing to indicate that the assassin was still inside. However, she didn’t believe she’d seen the last of him. Getting to work, she busied herself with a message, reporting vandalism of the window and the LOKI mech. It seemed unnecessary to mention the two thugs or the assassin.

Memory met reality as she noticed a familiar figure lurking outside the window, silhouetted against the constant grey drizzle of Kahje’s sky. She hurried across the lab and threw the door open.

‘Assassin,’ she accused.

He folded his hands together and bowed, seemingly unperturbed by her acidic tone. ‘Irikah. Forgive me for not announcing myself. You were concentrating, and I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Oh, I’m thoroughly disturbed, believe me,’ she snapped. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘I—’

‘On second thought,’ she said, ‘I’d rather not know. Why are you still here?’

‘I had to see that you were safe,’ he said, straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back. ‘It seems that you have enemies.’

He was checking in on her. Irikah wondered how extensively he had been following her. ‘Look, I’m grateful for your help, but I don’t like being stalked. Especially not by someone who admits to being a hired killer.’

He gave her a pleading look. ‘Forgive me, but what else am I to do?’

Irikah folded her arms with an impatient sigh. ‘Just tell me, in plain words, what you want from me.’

‘I want your forgiveness.’

‘You should be asking your victims for forgiveness, not me.’

That gave him pause. He closed his eyes for a long moment, brows pinched. ‘I have a duty to the hanar. I am their weapon. I don’t decide who lives and who dies, yet when you stepped into my sights, your judgment struck me to the core.’

Irikah listened to his increasingly impassioned speech with scepticism, her fingertips tapping restlessly. He was giving her that intensely earnest look again.

‘Please,’ he continued. ‘I cannot change what I am. All I can do is beg your—’

‘—My forgiveness, yes, I wish to the highest of heavens you would stop using that word,’ Irikah said, her voice dripping with irritation. ‘I’m sorry that you don’t like your job, assassin, but it’s not my responsibility to make you feel better about it. And if you don’t mind, I have my own work to worry about.’ With that, she turned and headed back to her work station.

He followed with silent footsteps, easing the door closed behind him. ‘At least let me help you. I offer protection from those who would harm you,’ he was saying. ‘Allow me to earn your for—ah, your pardon.’

Irikah closed her eyes and tilted her head back in resignation. Her decision was already made, and it followed a long list of decisions that had earned her so many disapproving labels throughout her lifetime: heedless, reckless, rash, _stupid_.

_Red star in the distance._

He could have killed her easily. However, something about her had stopped him in his tracks. She could take a cynical guess at what it was, and it made her want to laugh: even the shadowy agents of the Compact had hormones, it seemed. But it was better that he should stay here than go out and kill people who might not deserve it.

‘Look, if you really want to help me…’

‘Yes? Anything,’ he prompted.

‘My assistance mech was destroyed last night, as you no doubt observed. You can help me by sterilising these empty vials. The equipment is on your left. Gloves are on the shelf.’

She caught a faint, throaty sound that might have been surprise, annoyance, or amusement. ‘As you wish.’


	3. Chapter 3

Assassins could clean, as it turned out. Not surprising, Irikah thought, as killing had to get messy sometimes. Once her guest had tidied the lab to her satisfaction, she put him to work arranging repairs for the window and a replacement LOKI mech. He worked quietly and independently, mindful of her need to concentrate, yet she couldn’t keep herself from snatching glances at him. He had a certain efficiency of movement that made him fascinating to watch.

All right: he was graceful and she found it attractive.

But she had more important things to do. Firmly turning her back to him, she took a seat at her desk and got back to work. It took her an hour to prove that the week’s work had accomplished nothing: she had achieved exactly zero meaningful results.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Irikah leaned back in her seat and exhaled slowly, eyes closed. She tried to conjure a calming memory, but her mind snapped to the assassin instead. Fine. She could use the distraction.

She opened her eyes and cast about the room. He had finished his tasks and was now sitting on the floor over by a large window – one that wasn’t broken – hands clasped at his chest, head bowed, eyes closed. Prayer? How odd.

Sensing Irikah’s approach, he got to his feet in a single, easy motion. Irikah stopped at the window to look out at the dreary afternoon and he took up a place at her side, hands folded behind his back.

‘You’re religious,’ she stated.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

‘You’ll have to tell me.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

Irikah pointed out the window. It looked out onto a sidewalk, where a lone figure was sitting against a nearby wall with a placard in his lap. He could have been a street beggar. However, his placard didn’t plead for alms: rather, it condemned Irikah’s attempts to ‘play god’.

‘See him out there? He’s religious too,’ she said. ‘He believes that certain diseases are inflicted by the gods as punishment for the wicked. Naturally, he objects to mortals like me interfering with godly judgments by trying to prevent those diseases. And he feels so very strongly about it that he sits out there every day with that placard, no matter the weather.’

The assassin’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘And the others who attacked you? What of them?’

‘Same beliefs, but with less time to sit around outside my lab and more money to hire mercenaries.’

‘If you want to be rid of him, you need only ask.’

Irikah blanched, her fists clenching painfully hard at her sides. When she responded, her voice was harsh: ‘How do you live with yourself, assassin?’

‘To be clear, I don’t mean to kill him.’

‘Don’t dodge the question. I want to know. How do you sleep at night?’

He took a moment to consider before answering gravely: ‘My body carries out the work of the hanar. My soul seeks guidance from the gods: Amonkira, Kalahira...’ He turned an inscrutable gaze on her. ‘Arashu.’

‘You follow the old gods?’ Irikah couldn’t hide her surprise. She had somehow imagined him as a siarist, if not a follower of the Enkindlers.

‘Yes. There’s no need to be concerned. I don’t begrudge you your work.’

A pity she couldn’t say the same in return, Irikah thought.

He faced the window and squared his shoulders, suddenly all business. ‘I recall my first kill. It was sloppy. My skills were sharpened to perfection, but in the crucial moment I hesitated. The target became aware of me and counterattacked. It almost cost me my life.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because it taught me an important lesson: in matters of life and death, there can be no hesitation. You understood this intuitively when you killed your turian assailant. Your soul did not seek to take life. There was merely a crucial moment, and your body acted.’

It was daring of him to contrast his moment of hesitation with her lack of one, Irikah thought. She did not appreciate the comparison. And she still wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting at. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she demanded.

‘You asked me a question. I am giving you my response,’ he said mildly. ‘Hesitation - judgment - can turn a clean kill into a vicious struggle. It can cost innocent lives. When I carry out a contract, my hands must become the tools of my employers. My body acts. My soul sleeps.’

Irikah gave a short, derisive laugh. She was familiar with the old gods and knew what their followers believed. ‘You’re trying to keep your soul pure so you can go across the sea.’

‘I am a professional,’ he said, his voice gaining a new edge. Injured pride? ‘I am considering the possibility that I… have not been waking from my sleep.’

Irikah’s amusement died inside her. She turned to look at him. When she spoke, the quaver of her own voice surprised her. ‘You’re disconnected.’ There it was: the simple, obvious answer, explained with more patience than her judgmental probing deserved. He continued to stare impassively out the window. Was he ashamed?

A long silence followed, in which Irikah felt small and petty. And a little indignant about it, too. He was an assassin, how could she possibly feel like the lesser person? She was being absurd.

‘I should let you return to your work,’ he finally said. ‘I have much to consider.’

On top of making her doubt herself, he was dismissing her. Very well. This episode of unexpected self-examination was making data analysis seem downright fun by comparison.

As she returned to her desk, she noted the way his reflected eyes followed her in the window. She shivered as something thrilled inside her. She was in trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

Two full days had passed without incident. Nobody had threatened Irikah at home, nobody had accosted her in the street, and nobody had broken into her lab. She credited the assassin, who insisted on seeing her home in the evenings. He had developed a habit of practicing martial arts in full view of the window, whenever he wasn’t disassembling and cleaning his intimidating collection of firearms.

Progress on the vaccine was inching forward, never quickly enough. Irikah felt keenly that she was in a race against time. Her opponents had been raising the stakes against her for months, and now it seemed they were prepared to take her very life in order to stop her. However, the assassin’s presence seemed to have thrown them off. She took full advantage of the time he was buying her, arriving at the lab by sunrise and staying late into the night, taking her meals at her work station.

The new LOKI mech arrived and assumed a caregiving role, monitoring her condition and offering stimulants whenever her concentration wavered. She had quickly grown accustomed to its constant presence at her side, so she was startled to hear its synthetic voice sounding from the other side of the room: ‘Do you require a stimulant, Sere Krios?’

Irikah flinched in surprise. She turned to look and was startled for a second time: the assassin had removed his jacket, and the sight commanded her attention. Sleek and strong, he was the picture of peak physical condition, though his expression was drawn. His jacket was draped across his lap and he appeared to be patching the sleeve, holding it very close to his face.

Irikah was overcome with curiosity. ‘What happened?’ she asked, before she could stop herself.

‘A contract,’ he replied quietly, without looking up.

So he had been killing again. It was to be expected, yet Irikah had almost forgotten that he had his own work to do on top of his self-imposed vigil at her lab. He must have been awake all night. She felt a little guilty that the LOKI had been the first to notice how tired he looked.

Some distant corner of Irikah’s mind was railing at her: _Shallow! You spit in the face of injustice, except when it comes in the form of an attractive male,_ it sneered. She swallowed the sour thought and leaned against her work station, watching him and thinking carefully about their earlier conversation. Disconnection was no laughing matter. She could liken it to a symptom that pointed to some further disease: a uniquely drell way of coping with pain and fear. He seemed to consider it an essential part of his work. Perhaps his hanar employers didn’t realise how much they asked of him. Perhaps they just didn’t care.

He glanced up at her with a questioning look, shaking her from her reverie. She felt an acute twinge of self-consciousness. How long had she been staring?

‘So… how did you tear your sleeve? Don’t tell me you hesitated,’ she said lightly.

His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed with good humour. It was a smile, of sorts. ‘Of course not. I merely caught it on a rough edge. It was sloppy of me.’

Her brow quirked. ‘That seems uncharacteristic.’

‘I’d like to think so, yes.’ His smile broadened, and he paused what he was doing as she approached him. ‘Your efforts to help the hanar consume much of your time. It’s good to see you finally taking a break.’

Irikah took a seat next to him, leaning her back against the window. There was no point looking out when the view was so much better inside. ‘Is this interfering with your work?’ she asked. ‘You being here, I mean. Did you slip up because you were tired?’

‘There’s no need to be concerned. If I wasn’t watching over you I would still be tending to my equipment, only somewhere less inviting.’

Irikah grinned. ‘I don’t believe I actually invited you into my lab, assassin.’

‘Indeed. My point still stands.’

He wasn’t bad company when certain topics were avoided, Irikah thought. A little reticent, perhaps, but also intelligent and articulate. ‘So where would you be if you weren’t here, then?’ she prodded.

‘A safe house. The hanar have many on Kahje and other worlds.’

‘Don’t you have your own home to go to?’

He blinked, as if he considered the question strange. ‘The hanar provide for all my needs.’

A thinly disguised _no_ , Irikah thought. ‘How do you fill the time between contracts?’

‘Just as you’ve seen me do here.’

Irikah’s brow quirked again, and she looked at him sidelong. She’d seen him do three things: pray, exercise, and clean his weapons. ‘So you assassins don’t hang out together?’ she asked. ‘Swap gossip? Trade tips?’

He chuckled briefly at that. It was just a short, throaty huff, but Irikah felt inordinately proud of herself. ‘We assassins work independently,’ he said. ‘It’s a rare day that any two of us are in the same place. I doubt we would befriend one another, even given the opportunity.’

‘Why not? You must have plenty in common.’

‘There are seven of us. I am the youngest, and according to many, the best. I have routinely succeeded where my elders failed, and it shames them. I doubt they would be eager to “trade tips”, as you put it.’

‘The youngest _and_ the best? Well, consider me impressed, assassin,’ Irikah teased gently.

‘It wasn’t my intention to boast,’ he said, his red throat flushing dark with colour. He suddenly put the jacket aside. ‘Enough about my life. I wanted to give you something.’

The hasty change of subject made her want to tease him further, but her curiosity was piqued. ‘Oh?’

‘It’s an application for your omnitool. I’ve seen you wield your lab equipment to deadly effect, but I thought you might prefer a dedicated weapon.’ He activated his own omnitool, revealing a short blade that reminded Irikah of an animal’s claw. ‘This blade is simple to use and difficult for an opponent to turn against you. It isn’t approved for civilians, so keep it for emergencies.’

Of all the gifts men had ever offered her, this was already her favourite. She accepted the upload to her omnitool and watched as he demonstrated its use with a fluid grace she couldn’t hope to replicate.

‘You must strike hard. Hold nothing back,’ he said solemnly, then with a hint of humour: ‘No hesitation.’

She met his eyes warmly, wanting to communicate her gratitude. ‘This was unexpected. Thank you.’

He nodded politely and smiled, reddening again. The cold corner of Irikah’s mind spoke once more: _you enjoy your power over this murderous creature. Your principles fall before your ego._

No, not a creature, she argued with herself. Not a weapon or a tool either, but a person with his own will, however rarely he exercised it. It was egotistical to credit herself for his anything he did. ‘I wonder…’

‘Yes?’

‘You said you were the best. Do you ever fail your contracts?’ Irikah’s question masked another question: what became of the one I saved? Was it him you hunted last night?

The assassin understood, and his gaze dropped. ‘Never.’

Irikah turned her omnitool over, absently inspecting the new blade. _Red star in the distance..._ Her actions had not been for nothing, she thought. They had guided him to her. She’d failed to save the old salarian, but perhaps his life had bought her the opportunity to save another.

‘He was a war criminal who escaped justice by assuming the identity of an innocent,’ the assassin was saying. ‘His end was a greater mercy than he deserved.’

See? Justice, Irikah told herself. ‘He just looked like an old man, feeding the birds.’

‘And so he was, yet he was also more. It is always difficult to judge the full measure of an individual, let alone at a glance. You couldn’t have known.’

His words were intended generously, but made her feel small again. They were not words she lived by. ‘Thank you again for the blade,’ she said.

His smile was faint this time, again with his eyes more than his lips. ‘I pray you’ll never have need of it.’


	5. Chapter 5

It occurred to Irikah that she had never knowingly met anyone else who served under a compact. She did know of children who had been taken to serve: her mother’s older brother and her own childhood friend, Rani. It was an honour to be chosen, as the hanar placed great demands on their agents and only took those children with the highest potential. However, the clandestine and often dangerous nature of the work meant that it was in everybody’s best interest to sever all ties between agents and their former lives. Irikah had never seen Rani again. How Rani’s parents had coped, she couldn’t imagine.

_She reaches for me, stills my tears. Hands the same colour as Rani. ‘Don’t be sad, Irikah. Rani goes to them on our behalf. We must honour her by being brave.’ Her voice cracks._

Irikah shook the memory off, grateful she hadn’t spilled any of it aloud. The assassin’s presence in her lab had her thinking all sorts of things that were not related to her research. The entire week had seen her distracted by both innocent and less-than-innocent thoughts. She kept wondering if he had ever met Rani. Perhaps he would tell her what it was like to serve the hanar. Perhaps he would show her what he looked like sans jacket and a few other things... _  
_

Or perhaps she would remember her purpose here and get back to solving real problems.

Irikah tapped on her omnitool, erasing her last line of text. Written communication was not her strong suit, and unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to negotiate with her sponsors face-to-face. She wanted to inspire confidence, assuring them that their money was well-spent. However, the bare words lost their charm when written down, and her plea for further funding read like a childish demand.

‘Assassin.’

He was at her side momentarily. ‘Do you need something?’

‘Yes. My sponsors haven’t been responding to my messages, and I’m concerned they’re going to withdraw their funding. I can’t go on without their support. What would you say to them?’

The assassin gave her a blank look. ‘I’m afraid my training didn’t extend to negotiations.’

‘But you have a way with words. Give me your suggestion.’

Irikah watched him with a critical eye, noting his rapid blinking and the telling ripple in his throat. If she had to guess, she’d say that her small flattery had hit the mark.

‘What I would say… is that you are a siha. A warrior angel, fearsome in wrath. A tenacious protector, willing to risk your life for a stranger. _Sunset eyes, defiant in the scope…_ Your work is the will of Arashu, and it pains me to think that this would prevent you from seeing it through.’

Irikah’s smugness drained away as he spoke. Flattery was his domain: she had dared set foot in it, and now he was showing her how it was done. She told herself to harden up. He was threatening to melt her if she didn’t.

‘That’s all very lovely,’ she said slowly. ‘Lovely, and sadly irrelevant.’

‘My apologies. I admit that I understand little of your situation. Can’t you go to them?’

She shook her head. ‘They’re anonymous. I wouldn't know where to start looking for them.’ She had had other sponsors in the beginning, ones who had been willing to support her openly. However, as her work progressed, they had withdrawn their support one by one. It was no coincidence that only her anonymous donors remained: the ones whose identities were secret, who weren’t so easily found by her opponents.

‘What if you don’t receive the funding?’ he asked.

Irikah made a sweeping gesture with her hand. ‘This lab stops being mine and I go back to being a technician somewhere. I hope it’ll at least be somewhere worthwhile.’

The assassin frowned. ‘I may not be a diplomat, but it is my job to find those who don’t wish to be found. If I track them and bring them to you, you can make your case in person. I’m sure they would find your presence compelling.’

Irikah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I don’t think you understand.’

She turned away from him. Paced to the other end of the room. Turned back. The more she spoke with him, the more she suspected that he didn’t understand much at all. He was a creature of the underworld: a stalker and a murderer, yet he seemed oddly sheltered. Despite his gracious speech and polite bearing, he didn’t seem to comprehend how regular society operated. He just applied the same old solutions: stalking and murder. And apparently kidnapping, in this case.

‘Have I said something wrong?’

‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘You don’t know any better. How could you? You were taken from your family as a child and taught to kill.’

His response was unexpectedly sharp: ‘Don’t pity me. I’m not a victim.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Irikah wheeled around and advanced on him. He may have managed to fool himself, but he wasn’t fooling her. ‘You were a little boy trained to hunt and kill. Now you’ve grown up to find that it disagrees with something inside you. And don’t tell me you’re at peace with it, because you wouldn’t be here if you were.’ Speaking gently now, she turned the full weight of her gaze upon him. ‘You’re here because you have a conscience.’

He said nothing, but his dark eyes grew huge as they met hers. Irikah found herself reaching for his hands. He offered no resistance as she took them and folded them between her own, smoothing her thumbs along the insides of his palms. It was strange. These hands delivered death on a regular basis, yet they belonged to someone she could respect. He was a good person, despite everything. Better than her in many ways.

He gave her hands a hesitant squeeze, faltering slightly as she slipped one of them away and laid it alongside his jaw. ‘ _Siha,_ ’ he breathed at last, as her thumb gently traced the corner of his lips. Blinking rapidly, he bowed his head. ‘Forgive me.’

For this? she wondered, stilling her movement. She felt a sudden sting of self-consciousness, and her hands fell away from him. Had she misinterpreted his attention? What attention had he even paid her, that didn’t stem from his religious obsession with her forgiveness?

She turned away without a word, suddenly needing to be anywhere he wasn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

Irikah felt foolish. Men did not usually get the better of her, yet here she was, flushed out of her own lab by that damned assassin. She shouldn’t have left. She should have demanded that _he_ left, and if he had been anyone else that’s exactly what she would have done. Lack of funding was clearly not the only thing endangering her research.

The protestor gave a hoarse shout and waved his placard at her as she brushed by. She set a brisk pace away from the lab, passing between warehouses and factories, ignoring the occasional passer-by. She didn’t have any particular destination in mind. In fact, she would eventually need to double back to return home. In the meantime however, she could at least find someplace to finish composing her message, away from the distractions of the lab.

She chose a miserable little eatery that catered to industrial workers from the nearby factories. The proprietor chewed something noisy as he served her a cheap meal on a dirty tray, loudly reminding her that it was almost closing time. She activated her omnitool and typed out a short, imperfect plea for the lives of a few unlucky hanar.

Her message away, there was nowhere to go but home.

Leaving her meal untouched, Irikah swept out of the eatery and immediately collided with an alien. She almost could have mistaken it for a batarian, except that it had only two eyes and a strange mop of fuzz growing on its head: a human. She apologised and tried to step out of its way, but it grabbed her by the shoulders and produced a reedy string of garbled speech. She wasn't surprised that her translator was failing. Humans were a very new race to the galaxy, and she’d never before seen one outside of vids. What funny little protruding ears it had. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Did humans even come in male and female varieties?

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.’ She knocked its hands aside and continued on her way, but it fell into step close behind her, so near that she could feel its breath puffing on the back of her neck as it continued to chatter.

A passing drell touched her on the elbow, his face full of concern. He was red on red, good-looking, and not much older than her. ‘Is this man bothering you, lady?’ he asked kindly.

‘There’s no need to get involved, I’m fine,’ Irikah said, though in truth she was almost ready to hurt the human, who was still talking.

The drell frowned. He was going to insist on his chivalry. ‘Hey, human. Go back to Earth and harass your own women,’ he said. ‘Now, why don’t you come with me?’ he added soothingly, taking Irikah’s arm and attempting to steer her indoors.

Irikah’s lip curled with contempt. She may have been reckless, but she wasn’t too stupid to see that these two already knew each other. They were working together, and their intentions could only be bad.

‘What do you want?’ she challenged, refusing to follow the drell as he tugged on her arm.

He made a sudden movement. For a long moment she saw nothing but stars bursting in darkness, heard nothing but a high-pitched whine, until the heavy numbness in her head gradually gave way to pain. He had struck the side of her head so hard that she’d fallen. There was blood in her mouth, and the sheer surprise of being attacked in a public area left her struggling to gather her wits. Never mind, they weren’t in public any longer: he was dragging her through a cavernous, dimly-lit room full of vehicles and crates. A warehouse.

He dropped her and she fell all the way down, crashing heavily onto her stomach, too dizzy to catch herself. Her shifting vision made her stomach churn, so she closed her eyes and simply breathed.

‘Don’t bother getting up, Irikah,’ he said. ‘Your sponsors are dead. You’re the last loose end. Your blasphemy ends today.’

Dead sponsors meant dead research meant dead hanar. And soon, dead Irikah. She opened her eyes and watched her own hands curl into fists. She wanted _him_ dead.

He was speaking into his comms device, voice low, not intended for her but not concealed either. ‘I have her. She’s not going anywhere. Let me know when you’re done with the lab and we'll move out… The bodyguard? Bring his corpse, I’ll find out who he is.’

Corpse? Was he talking about the assassin? Irikah collected her strength and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her vision was clearing, but her head throbbed mercilessly. She clenched her jaw, trying to focus through the pain.

The human had a pistol trained on her. She couldn’t understand his speech, but his narrow, elongated eyes communicated his contempt well enough. However, he was nervous. The white markings in his eyes flashed conspicuously as he peered into the deep shadows.

Slowly gathering her limbs, Irikah rose to her feet. She couldn’t quite bring herself to full standing height, but at least she was off the ground. The drell observed her casually, leaning back against a wall of crates and giving her an appraising stare.

‘On your feet already? You’re a hard woman, Irikah. I could almost admire you,’ he said to her, but he was now watching the human. A look passed between them and the human turned away, his weapon following his shifting gaze.

Irikah activated her omnitool and reached to trigger the emergency protocol. The drell threw his head back and laughed. ‘That’s no use, my dear. Your lab will be ashes by now. There’s nobody left to—’

He never saw the omni-blade coming. Irikah would study the memory later, wondering how she had summoned the strength for it: a bone-breaking blow to the side of his neck, blade driving in behind the jaw, bearing the weight of all her frustration and desperation behind it. He was slammed against the wall and fixed there, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open, hands clutching weakly at his throat.

A gunshot rang out, shockingly loud in the booming space of the warehouse. Irikah staggered as her breath left her all at once, heat and blood blooming in her back, her arm reduced to dead weight. Her clumsy efforts to withdraw the blade from its lodging tore the drell’s throat open and he collapsed at her feet, gurgling hideously.

The human circled sideways, taking a more careful aim at her. She turned, hoping to bring her weapon to bear, but she was moving poorly and the motion made her stumble. Sheer willpower could no longer overcome the damage to her body. The cold, distant observer in her spoke with clarity: _the next shot will kill_.

Death descended on the scene like Kalahira’s own shadow, except that the tides of the sea had turned. The human’s head twisted impossibly as Irikah watched, his neck giving way with a grotesque crack. In the time it took for her to register his presence, the assassin had taken the human’s pistol and fired a single shot into the red drell’s head, silencing his death rattle.

Irikah had never seen such a welcome sight in her life. ‘Assassin. And you thought I was the angel,’ she tried to tell him as he caught her, guiding her onto her side.

‘Be still, siha. You’ve been shot,’ he said tersely, moving to investigate the wound. Irikah’s eyelids fluttered as he began to apply a painful amount of pressure to her back. He was touching her and that seemed somehow significant, but it was difficult to recall why. It was so much easier to just sink into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bothers me that humans are everywhere in the comic book story since I presume most of it happens on Kahje. Maybe they're just easier to draw than drell.


	7. Chapter 7

Irikah grimaced. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know where she was: the distinctive smell was enough to tell her that she was lying in a hospital bed. She heard the release of a held breath.

‘Siha.’

She turned her head towards the voice and groaned involuntarily. It hurt.

‘Peace, siha. You’ve been in surgery. You took an unshielded shot in the back, and you also suffered a concussion. Your mother has been calling from Belan every hour. How are you feeling?’

She ignored the assassin's question. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said, her voice faint.

‘When you left the lab, I didn’t think you wanted my company, so I stayed behind. A team of mercenaries arrived with heavy weapons and blockaded the door. We exchanged fire, but my main concern was for you, so I left through a rear window. They had posted a guard there. He was heavily armed but poorly trained. I don’t think they knew who they were dealing with. I used his comms to track the position of their leader, and that’s where I found you.’

Irikah was trying to look at him, but the world was painfully bright. She blinked until her vision cleared enough for her to see him seated at her bedside, but her eyelids still felt sticky, and her brows pinched with dual pain and concern. ‘What about my lab?’ she asked. ‘He said it was ashes. Did they destroy it?’

He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry, siha. I have failed you.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ she said. The loss was her responsibility, not his: she had insisted on her research in the face of mortal danger, and been dealt the brutal consequences. Not only that, but she'd gotten her sponsors killed. A small part of her burned at the injustice of it all, but to her own shame, the overwhelming feeling was one of deep relief. She was still alive. And though she couldn’t save everyone, perhaps she could at least help this one lost soul. ‘You’re the only reason I didn’t lose my life along with everything else,’ she said, the strength of her voice returning.

‘I should have stayed with you.’

Irikah sighed and immediately regretted it as her back protested painfully. ‘Look, you’ve done so much for me: you went from stalking me to helping me, arming me, seeing me home at night, protecting me from mercenaries, saving my life. You’ve killed for me. That’s a very grand gesture, you know.’

‘Somewhat less grand coming from a career assassin,’ he said darkly.

‘It’s still very much appreciated, believe me. I’m a stubborn fool, and I’d have gotten myself killed if not for you.’ Irikah grinned bitterly as she spoke, though the assassin didn’t seem to find it funny. ‘That’s not all you’ve done for me,’ she continued, sobering. ‘You also… talked with me. Explained your work. You showed me another perspective on things I always took for granted. And you did it with far more grace and patience than I showed you in return. I’m ashamed that I judged you so harshly when I didn’t know you at all.’

He bowed his head again. ‘You honour me far beyond what I deserve, siha. When I first saw you through the scope of my rifle, I thought you were the goddess Arashu. Your selflessness was incomprehensible. It possessed me. I needed to explain myself to you, to beg your forgiveness, but when I finally met you, you refused to grant me peace. I understand now that the peace I asked of you was false. You have woken me from my battle sleep, and I have no desire to return to it. I won’t ask it of you again.’

Irikah folded her hands in her lap. The right arm, with which she’d wielded her omni-blade, felt curiously numb and twice as heavy as usual. ‘No more battle sleep?’ she asked. ‘How will you work?’

‘I... have a confession to make.’ He paused to take a slow breath, seemingly unsure of himself. Irikah reached for him with her good hand, but he was gazing at the floor.

‘Thane.’

He looked up at the sound of his own name, visibly surprised, and shifted closer to take her offered hand. Leaning his elbows on the edge of her bed, he folded her hand between both of his and briefly rested his forehead against them. It was a gently thankful gesture that reminded her of prayer.

‘My future was set at the age of six when I was committed to serve the hanar. I never questioned it until I met you, siha,’ he said. He looked up at her and spoke with gravity: 'My time with you has changed everything.'

Irikah was grateful her heart rate wasn't being monitored. 'Are you saying you want to… quit your job?' she asked. 'Can you do that?’

‘Anyone can choose not to serve.’ His voice dropped low and quiet, barely more than a whisper, meant only for her: ‘You have woken me, siha. You act with intention. You put your soul into all that you do, and you strive to do what is right. You inspire me. I feel… alive. I care for you, more than I’ve shown you. I want to stay by your side, if you’ll have me.’

Irikah’s heart leapt and twisted at once. _Yes,_ she wanted to say, _please stay. A hundred times yes._ Yet something in her was cautious, and she was caught in the unfamiliar position of not knowing what to do. ‘Your work is all you know,’ she said hesitantly. ‘It’s your entire way of life. We've barely even started getting to know each other. I don't want to make you do anything rash.’

‘I have had considerable time for thought while you were resting,’ he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I once told you that I couldn't change what I was, but you have shown me the folly of being driven by circumstance. This is something I want, do not think of it as something you make me do. I don't ask you to be responsible for me, or even to care for me in return. I ask only that you tell me what you want.'

He had a point. ‘There you go, making me feel small again,’ Irikah said. She watched as a frown shadowed his face and she grinned internally, extracting her hand from his grasp. She could guess what he was about to say, only she wasn’t going to let him say it this time. Grabbing the front of his jacket, she pulled him close and silenced his plea with a brief kiss. Her lips brushed against his as she smiled openly: his look of surprise would definitely be worth recalling later.

‘I want you to stay,’ she whispered, smoothing the line of his jaw with her thumb.

‘Gladly.’ He laid his own hand on top of hers and his eyes flickered, as if he were remembering something. ‘The last time we spoke like this, I hesitated. Never again,’ he said, leaning in for a second kiss: a real kiss this time, warm and full of intent, his mouth opening against hers.

Irikah was smiling like a fool when they parted. She couldn’t help herself. ‘I’m glad you won’t be asking for my forgiveness any more,’ she said lightly. ‘I was afraid you’d leave if I gave it.’

‘Never… though I hope you'll forgive me for allowing you to be shot.’

‘Oh, Thane. That was hardly your fault.’

His earnest expression gave way to one of subtle mirth. ‘She deigns to call me by my name,’ he teased, unable to hide his obvious pleasure at the fact.

She wanted to kiss him again, but a gentle chime sounded and he produced her omnitool from somewhere in his jacket. ‘You’ll want to take this call. I’m certain it’s your mother,’ he said, pressing it into her hand and rising. ‘I won’t be far.’

Irikah followed him with her eyes as he stepped out of the room, all controlled strength and deadly grace, and she wondered what her mother would say about her getting involved with an assassin. She was still grinning like an idiot when she answered the vid call.

‘Irikah! Look at you! You reckless little – what in Kalahira’s deepest ocean have you been doing now? I’ve been so worried!’

Irikah briefly debated with herself. What to say? That she'd made the wrong people angry, lost her funding, and had her lab blown up? No. She had better news than that, news that her mother had been waiting years for.

'Good news, mother,' she began. 'I met someone...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: ‘I WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING THAT I AM’ is a terrible basis for a relationship and I don’t endorse it at all. But I guess that's exactly what Thane learns in the end.
> 
> On a lighter note... when you’re writing about Thane and you accidentally type that he leaned in for a ‘kill’ instead of a ‘kiss’. Didn't know whether to laugh or groan.


End file.
